... when you are working fulltime and trying to meet writing commitments are:
We have one person to thank for this particular long weekend:
Her Royal Majesty, The Queen.
A friendly game of croquet on the -- oh, I've done that bit already.
An elderly lady, HRH, batters a ball with a mallet. It scoots through a metal hoop.
Your humble scribe, ME, watches, bemused.
ME: Well played, ma'am.
HRH: Yes, yes, enough with the toadying, what did you get me?
ME: I'm sorry?
HRH: For my birthday?
ME: It's not really your birthday, is it?
HRH: Do you intend to take Monday off from work?
HRH: Then I want my damn present!
ME: Are you even allowed to say that?
HRH: I'm the Queen of England and I'll say what I damn well please. Where is it?
ME: You're the richest woman in the world.
HRH: I'm waiting.
ME: You don't pay taxes.
HRH: Only poor people deserve birthday presents, is that it?
ME: Well, no...
HRH: Do you apply some form of means test? Have your friends fill out a survey of some sort?
Insert spurious line of big print to break up the page.
ME: I don't know what to get you!
HRH: I've granted you a whole day off work. A little effort on your part wouldn't be out of line.
ME: You speak far more colloquially than I expected.
HRH: It's all in your head.
ME: Possibly so, but what does one get someone who has everything?
HRH: Simple. Something they've never had before.
HRH: Little snippy, aren't we?
ME: I know, what about a Dockers Premiership?
HRH: Can I keep it in the cellar along with Philip and the other artefacts?
ME: Rather cutting, don't you think, ma'am.
HRH: Just get me two of them then.
ME: It doesn't quite work that way.
HRH: Can I at least choose a colour?
ME: I don't see why not, as long as it's purple.
HRH: This is the sort of gratitude I get. Typical.
ME: I could walk the corgis after I've finished writing?
HRH: No, no, that's no good. It's the only time Philip gets some air.
ME: You really keep him in the cellar?
HRH: Most of the time. There's the occasional state function they tell me he has to attend.
ME: So it's settled. In exchange for the day off Monday so I can write, you get something you've never had before, a Dockers Premiership.
HRH: Sounds positively awful.
ME: I could get you a card and a Lotto ticket instead?
Your humble scribe ducks as the Queen's mallet sails serenely over his head. She storms off full of mutter and scorn.
ME: Thank you, ma'am. I appreciate it ma'am.
She flips him the bird.
Parts of this exchange may have been exaggerated for dramatic effect. As most people know, Philip is actually locked in a small room with an ensuite. Disappointing I know.
Have a good long weekend Perth people. I have no idea why we choose to celebrate the Queen's not-birthday on a different date to everyone else but I shall enjoy the extra day nonetheless. The phone and the internet shall be resolutely OFF. The brain and netbook switched ON.
Your Humble Scribe